


Fools

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:56:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you die, I will literally go out of my freaking mind, often plays in loops as Lydia tries to sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fools

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song Fools by Lauren Aquilina, as well as the Stydia kiss coming up in Season 3. Big thanks to my friend Shantell who helped me indulge in perfect Stydia scenarios, as well as for the encouragement to write. Another thanks to my best friends Savannah, Brittany and Jade for dealing with my overwhelming, angst-filled Dylan O'Brien crush/thirst on a day to day basis.

His arm flew back to shield her, to push her flat against the wall as the fire blazed bright, his fingers gripping her wrist hard. She curled into his side, a hand snaking up to grasp at his arm; horrified, she watched as Boyd slowly regained his composure, returning from the dark inner corners of his mind.  
  
Lydia felt Stiles’ body shudder with a sigh of relief and she heard a small whimper slip past her own lips. His hand softened around her wrist and slipped down to intertwine their fingers, squeezing quickly before he rushed forward to help Boyd out of the bathtub.  
  
Stiles was talking to Boyd, voice low. His dark eyes burned with intensity; Lydia could practically see the gears in his mind turning. Boyd was silent, his giant frame shaking as he cried – he could provide answers no more than the rest of them could. She would have been working just as hard to figure out what was happening in that motel – maybe even harder, if it weren’t for the dull ache in her heart and the slow burn of her hand that had started the second Stiles let go.  
  
It was admirable, if not a little crazy, how selfless Stiles was. She hadn’t noticed it before not because it was a newly developed trait – Stiles had always been this way – but because she was new to the world that all of her friends had been entangled in for years. She would have been mad about being kept in the dark for so long, if it hadn’t been for the way Stiles had stepped closely to her, towering over her five-foot-something frame, and had softly said it was only to keep her safe.  
  
 _If you die, I will literally go out of my freaking mind_ , often plays in loops as Lydia tries to sleep.  
  
+  
  
She swears it was an out of body experience; one second she was watching as Stiles persuaded Scott not to kill himself, the next, she saw herself hurdling towards her three best friends, tackling them to the ground a millisecond before the pool of gasoline erupted into fire.  
  
Lydia hates when they use the word hero, especially after the countless times they’ve saved her ass from death. _Hero._ The word tastes sour on her tongue. She’s no hero; she’s just trying to repay her friends from all the times they’ve tried to protect her.  
  
Sheriff Stilinski opens the door to his home. It’s quaint and cozy, with creaky stairs and scratched up floorboards. She’s been here before; back when Jackson was still around, back when she chased him like a lost puppy, oblivious to the people – to Stiles, who truly cared. It was here that she had realized that Stiles really liked her, and she had ignored that in favor of Jackson.  
  
Stiles lets her in to his room with a tight-lipped smile. She resists the urge to reach out and smooth her thumb over the cut on his eyebrow, the bruising on his lip.  
  
“Your hoodie,” she says, all business as usual. Because this is her, this is Lydia; complete and utter seriousness, no room for the flood of emotions that have been filling her lungs lately. “Thanks again, for letting me wear it.” She sits at the foot of his bed. As soon as it’s out of her grasp, she folds her arms and tries to usher warmth back in with her hands.   
  
“You still look a little cold,” Stiles smiles, hands it back to her. “Keep it.” He’s quiet for the beat of a second before he speaks up again. “Thanks again, for, you know – “  
  
“You don’t have to thank me,” Lydia interjects, pulling her arms in tighter.  
  
He barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “I _do_ have to thank you, Lydia – you saved my –“  
  
“It’s not like you haven’t done the same,” How cold she sounds surprises even Lydia, and she bites her lip at the look on Stiles’ face. “Honestly, Stiles. It was nothing.”  
  
“Well I do feel bad about, you know, accusing you of being a murderer and all that. A night at a hotel that causes people to kill themselves is hard on everyone, not just suicidal werewolves.” The half-apology is offered with a small smile, and the bed sinks down from where Stiles sits next to her. She braces herself, waits for him to ask what she knows Scott and Allison have been pushing him to ask since the night at the motel. He puts a hand on her knee. “Lydia, what did you see?”  
  
She presses her lips together, willing herself not to cry. Crying is for the weak, and Lydia Martin is anything but weak. Smart as a whip, beautiful as sin – her mother taught her to be strong, to be independent. Dissolving into tears so quickly makes her feel miniscule, makes her feel every bit as human as she really is. “I don’t know,” She whispers, and Stiles is immediately holding her hand. “It was some sort of face, I guess. It was there and then it wasn’t – I’m not even sure I wasn’t imagining it.”  
  
“Yeah, well, it wouldn’t be the first time something strange has happened in Beacon Hills,” Stiles says weakly, runs a hand over his face. “A face made out of fire. Great.”  
  
Lydia shakes her head and laughs. “Did you ever envision your life like this?”  
  
“Working alongside werewolves and on the constant brink of death? No, can’t say I ever pictured high school like this.”  
  
“A girl in my chemistry class was complaining about _college applications_ the other day,” Lydia smirks. “I wanted to shake her and scream _you don’t know how lucky you are!_ ”   
  
“College applications,” Stiles scoffs, smoothes his thumb over the back of Lydia’s hand. “I wish.”  
  
Lydia smiles, and he continues. “Well, again – thanks for saving us.”  
  
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, again – this only covers a fraction of the times you’ve done the same for me, Stiles.”  
  
He rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. “Just want to keep you safe.”  
  
 _If you die, I will literally go out of my freaking mind._  
  
She looks down at their hands; his long, skinny fingers and wide palm engulf her small hand, and she thinks of how beautiful it is, to feel so truly safe in the hands of someone who isn’t anything but simply human. She leans her head on his shoulder. Something’s there, boiling in the pit of her stomach, enflaming her heart. It’s there, it’s unspoken, and she’s unsure if he can feel it – but she knows that if Stiles were to ever die, she too would go out of her freaking mind.  
  
+  
  
She finds herself in a classroom – like previous times before, she’s alone, and she has no clue how she got there. There’s a series of circles drawn on the chalk board; it looks like some sort of complicated knot, with all the circles intersecting. She watches as she picks up a piece of chalk, draws a shaky two in the center of the circle on the right.

Lydia drops the chalk and screams.

A half hour later, a frantic Ms. Blake and the town police are questioning what she knows, and it’s frustrating Lydia to no end because she doesn’t know _why_ she is unconsciously drawn to these places, but whenever she is, someone ends up dead.  
  
“And he’s going to be the second murder,” She explains, gesturing to the two she had drawn on the board.  
  
“Lydia,” Ms. Blake says in a frustratingly calm voice. “ _You_ drew that number.”  
  
She’s drowning, Lydia is – she’s tired of trying to explain something she hasn’t figured out herself. She’s tired of people expecting her to be the genius she always is, when this is one piece of the puzzle that is her life that won’t fit in with the others.  
  
“Fine,” She says, mocking Ms. Blake’s soothing tone. “I’m psychic.”  
  
“Psychic?”  
  
“I’m _something,_ ” She snaps, and the other students look at one another with raised eyebrows, hushed whispers – but Lydia is, she _has_ some sort of gift that she has yet to define.  
  
She can feel every pair of eyes on her back, and she knows nobody believes her. Ms. Blake is still trying to pretend that everything is just peachy, that every teacher in Beacon Hills High that has disappeared is just on some sort of unannounced, extended vacation, although everyone who has half a brain knows that they’re long dead by now. Aiden puts his hands on her waist, pulls her in and whispers comforting words to calm her down.  
  
Eyes smoldering, she tears out of his grasp and clicks into the hallway, arms wrapped protectively around her. Nobody believes her – it’s one of many times that Lydia has felt like an outsider to the world she once ruled. Nobody believes her, and up until a few months ago, nobody _included_ her, and at times it seems like nobody wants her. With Ms. Blake scoffing at Lydia’s revelation on being psychic, with all her classmates whispering about her and snickering behind their palms, she could feel her lungs tighten up, _Stiles, Stiles, Stiles_ coursing through her blood and pounding in her ears. Because if there was one person in the whole world that would believe her, it would have been Stiles.  
  
 _What are you?_ He had asked, eyebrows furrowing and eyes darkening, scanning her face with such scrutiny, as if her mere expression would have let him in on her secret. She had rolled her eyes, leaned close to him. _I’m psychic._ Back then, it was a joke. She had been offended, quite frankly, that Stiles was accusing her of having some sort of supernatural ability that she was shielding for the rest of them. It was even a bit laughable – Lydia Martin, unlikely supernatural heroine. Now, it didn’t seem so far-fetched.  
  
+  
  
He’s been in bed for days.  
  
Sheriff Stilinski had been gone for just over a week. Two days after he had gone missing, Stiles had disappeared into his home. Scott had tried to check on him, but he wouldn’t unlock the door. Allison had told her that he wasn’t answering any of Allison’s text messages or phone calls. Lydia had taken it upon herself to go over there, and with a bit of searching, had found the spare key – left in a fake rock on the side of the house. She hadn’t planned on staying, but found she couldn’t leave; Stiles’ eyes were red and swollen, and he spoke with such a broken tone that Lydia knew she couldn’t leave him in his empty house alone.  
  
“You need to eat, sweetie,” She says, takes one half of a grilled cheese sandwich and hands it to him. Long gone are the tears; Stiles sits up and silently takes the half, chewing quietly, staring at the wall opposite his bed.  
  
They watch TV together – some stupid show that she knows neither one of them is really watching. The whole time, she holds his hand, leans her head on his shoulder and listens to the steady sound of him breathing. Scott sends her a text sometime around eleven PM, and her heart nearly stops in her chest when she reads the news.  
  
 _Derek talked to Jennifer. Sheriff is still alive.  
  
_ “Stiles,” She whispers, and he slowly turns to look at her. Just the look on his face is enough to make the tears come; the warmth is gone from his eyes and his mouth is pulled tightly together, permanent sadness etched in every inch of his face. “Stiles, he’s alive.”  
  
He shrugs. “For now.”  
  
With that, Lydia is enraged. “How – how _dare_ you?” She sits up, scoots back against the headboard of Stiles’ bed and angles her body towards her, pieces of her hair flying in her face. “Do you not understand how hard _everyone_ is working to find him? Everyone, Stiles – even the people who couldn’t give two shits about you. Aiden, Ethan, _Deucalion_ – they’re all looking!”  
  
He says nothing, continues to stare numbly at the television. “You’re a coward.” Her voice shakes and his head snaps towards her, a small flicker of anger in his eyes. “I never thought I’d say that, Stiles – you were braver then every last one of them, every last werewolf and stupid creature that lives in this damn city.” Her cheeks are flushed red and she shakes her head. “You’d think since it’s your father you’d work a million times harder to find him. You’d think you would put aside this self-pity party and get out of your bed and go look for him. Stiles, you were the bravest person I know and I – I guess I was wrong.”  
  
“Do you understand,” Stiles whispers, reaching over and grabbing her by the shoulders. “What my life will be like if they don’t get him back? Do you get that I will have lost not one parent, but two?” His grasp relaxes and Lydia watches as the tears fall down his cheeks. He’s just sitting there, staring at her and crying, and warmth surges through Lydia’s body.  
  
“We’re going to find him, Stiles, I promise.”  
  
"And what if we don’t?” The tears fall thick down his face. “I can’t lose him Lydia, _I can’t.”  
  
_ She moves closer to him, reaches up to cup his face and thumb away the tears. They keep falling, steadily now, and the pain embedded so deeply in his face is too much to handle.  
  
Lydia takes one last sweeping glance at Stiles and leans in, pressing her mouth to his. It’s soft at first, and she’s speaking to him through it – _is this okay?_ and _I’m sorry this took so long_ and _you, it’s always been you._ His tears are wet on her face and he seems almost taken back at first, and for a split second Lydia questions her actions. He leans up so he’s taller than her and puts his hands on her hips, kissing back harder and more urgently.  
  
She’s never had a kiss like this before – with Jackson it had always been weighed down with questions surrounding their relationship. This kiss is different, is exactly like Stiles – it’s awkward and shy but it’s comfortable.  
  
His hands slide up from her hips to her waist, finally finding the buttons of her shirt. One by one, Stiles undoes them, and _god_ , it’s Stiles and it’s different but it’s good. He pushes the shirt off of her as her hands find the bottom of his t-shirt, sliding it up over his head and tossing it to the ground. He slips her bra straps off her shoulders and undoes the clasp quickly – _where did he learn to do that?_ She thinks, impressed – and she slips his gym shorts over his hips.  
  
He’s rolling a condom on to himself and she stares up at this boy, this beautiful boy that has been there since the first day of her freshman year at high school. She thinks of all the times he said hi to her only to have her ignore him, about _if you die, I’ll literally go out of my freaking mind,_ only to have him watch as she chased relentlessly after Jackson, who ended up leaving. She thinks about how he told her she looked beautiful at the dance when Jackson barely glanced at her, about how he ended up holding on to her body after Peter had attacked her, about how he had given her one of his flannels on top of his dad’s coat the night they found her naked in the woods.  
  
“Is this – are you okay with this?” Stiles breathes, glancing down at himself and then back at her. She smiles at him, leans up to give him a light kiss before guiding him inside her, gasping at how he feels. She almost outright laughs at the look of disbelief on his face before he starts moving, and she’s arching her back and biting at his neck as his body rolls on hers. It isn’t anything spectacular, but it’s the best sex she’s ever had for the sole reason that it was Stiles, that it came from a person who genuinely loves her. She swears she feels her heart swell as he’s reaching her breaking point, and she orgasms a few seconds before he does. He collapses gently down on her and moves a piece of hair out of her eyes, and she can’t help but kiss him over and over again; a silent _thank you_ for everything that he’s done, everything that he’s been for her.  
  
A half hour later she’s wrapped up in only one of his flannels, tracing over his chest as he sleeps. She knows eventually she’ll have to tell Allison, and Stiles will tell Scott – but it feels good that this is between them for now, their own little piece of happiness to hold close to their hearts during such an awful time.  
  
Lydia realizes with a small gasp that Stiles’ virginity belongs to her.  
  
And for some reason, that feels right; it may not have been her first time, but it’s fitting that that piece of her does, in fact, belong to Stiles as well. She lets her head rest on his chest. He’s sleeping but his arms tighten around her, and Lydia swears she’s never felt this at peace in her life. She’s not ready to say it, and she knows it would come across as insincere if she had said it during sex or so quickly afterwards, so she traces it out on his body.  
  
 _I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U.  
  
_ +  
  
The early morning sun beams through the window in Stiles’ bedroom and wakens Lydia. She squeezes her eyes shut and realizes that his arms are still wrapped around her; it takes her a few seconds to process what had happened the previous night, but when she does, panic spreads through her body like a wildfire.  
  
Untangling herself from his lanky arms, Lydia gets dressed and stuffs his flannel in her purse. She should return it to his drawers, but something tugs at her inside that tells her to keep it. With a quick fluff of her hair and a swipe of lipstick, she is ready to leave.  
  
She finds a piece of paper and a pen and scrawls a note. With a quick glance at a sleeping Stiles, she kisses the note and leaves it taped to his door. She’s gone now, as she should be; it’s just casual sex, and Lydia knows how that works – he’ll stumble and stutter around her until she firmly clues him in to her lack of caring and whatever they had before will fade.  
  
She pulls the flannel out of her bag when she gets home and presses it to her face. Stiles was hurt and vulnerable and she hates the fact that he’ll wake up to an empty house because his father is gone and the girl he loves has left.  
  
 _I’ll see you around, Stiles,_ he’ll read, and his eyes will scan the bed, in disbelief that the night before had been real. She wonders if he will hate her, if he’ll ever give her the time to explain why she can’t give him a chance.  
  
Her eyes fall on a picture that sits in a frame on her desk; Allison and Scott sit together, one of Scott’s arms draped around Allison’s shoulders and Allison’s face beaming in the smile that only Scott can give her. Stiles and Lydia in front of them, her arm hooked with his. Stiles is staring at her with a smile, and she remembers him requesting to take another because he hadn’t been looking at the camera.  
  
She hates herself for a moment. Everything she does is to protect herself, because everyone she lets in hurts her. She thinks of how Allison broke up with Scott out of love for him, and he had respected her decision because he loved her. Lydia knows that Stiles could give her the world - the moon and the stars included – if she would let him.  
  
But she doesn’t let him, and it’s not out of love for Stiles. Lydia realizes everyone she lets in hurts her, because she finds a way to hurt them first. She buries her face deeper into the flannel and allows herself to cry; she cries for herself, for the people that she’s hurt, for the people who have left and for Stiles, who has never left and never will. It’s best if she pushes him away, if her denial allows him to find someone that is willing and ready to give him everything he wants to give Lydia.  
  
That way he won’t get hurt, she won’t allow herself to hurt him, and maybe he’ll find happiness.  
  
+  
  
“I understand where you’re coming from,” Allison says, tilting her head. “But I think you’re underestimating yourself, as well as Stiles.”  
  
“I’m not underestimating anyone,” Lydia says, plucking a skirt off of a rack. “I know perfectly well what I’m capable of. And I’ve known for years how he’s felt. That’s why I’m staying away – nobody gets hurt. Flaw-free plan.”  
  
“Yeah, flaw-free except for the fact that he genuinely cares about you – it’s not just a boyish crush anymore, Lydia – and I think you like him back.” Allison shakes her head.  
  
“I’m just not trying to hurt anyone. And I’m tired of depending on a boy – I can take care of myself.” Lydia tilts her head at a shirt and hands it to Allison. “Take this; it’s my treat. It’ll look _amazing_ with your skin tone.”  
  
“Thanks.” Allison bites her lip. “You can care about someone and still be your own person, Lydia!” She frowns. “If anything, Stiles would be good for your independence. He’s not Jackson.”  
  
Lydia purses her lips. “What is that supposed to mean?”  
  
“It means Stiles won’t make you chase after him. Your decision is the final word, Lydia. If you want him, he’s in one hundred percent. No mind games, no second guesses.”Allison reaches out and lightly touches Lydia’s wrist. “Jackson loved the chase, Lydia. He liked you as Lydia, Jackson’s girlfriend. Stiles likes you as Lydia, the person.  
  
She flips through the racks, feeling her face heat up. “I’ve ignored him for two weeks, Allison.”  
  
Two weeks, without bothering to return his texts or calls. She knows he saw her drag Aiden into a storage closet, she saw him avert his eyes when she came out fixing her skirt. And yet, he still tried to talk to her – and it wasn’t Stiles being pushy and demanding, it was Stiles genuinely wondering if what they did that night had been okay with Lydia.   
  
Allison smiles kindly. “It’s nothing he isn’t used to. Before all of this, you had pretty much ignored him for two years.”  
  
Lydia barely suppresses a smile as she heads towards the cashier. “If I had known what he had been hiding underneath those jeans, I would have paid close attention to him a lot sooner.”  
  
Allison looks up, her eyes bright and her cheeks slightly flushed. “Scott just texted me. They found Stiles’ dad. Alive.”  
  
Lydia drops her bags and hugs Allison. “Oh, thank God. I really didn’t want to find that body.”  
  
Allison tugs on her hand. “Let’s go.”  
  
+  
  
She gives Stiles and his father a few hours alone, mostly to let them talk things out, now that Sheriff Stilinski was fully clued in to the supernatural world. She wonders if the reunion was enough to get Stiles’ anger with her – if he had any to begin with – out of his mind. It takes her a few minutes, but she extends a trembling fist towards their front door and knocks three times. Stiles yells _coming!_ and Lydia hears his footsteps approaching the door. With a deep breath, she sees the door open and is dismayed to see Stiles close the door behind him and fold his arms over his chest  
  
“Hi,” She says quietly, wraps a piece of string that is fraying off the bottom of her cardigan around her finger until it turns blue. Lydia usually loves when all eyes are on her, but she’s feeling uncomfortable in her own skin with Stiles staring back at her.  
  
“Oh, hi,” He replies, and widens his eyes in mock-surprise. “ _Hi._ Good to know that we’re speaking now.”  
  
“I know – “ She begins, but he holds up his hands up.  
  
“You don’t know, Lydia.” He pinches the bridge of his nose before looking at her, cheeks flushing. “It’s just – it’s _my_ time to talk now, okay?”  
  
She bites her lip, looks down at her shoes. “Okay.”  
  
“I have liked you since elementary school, Lydia. That’s a long freaking time to like someone.” His hands tighten into fists and he moves his neck around before he softens. “And then, then we got to high school. And first day of freshman year, you wanna know what I said to myself? I said _Stiles, this is your year, bud. Just go up, go talk to her._ And so I did – and you walked right on by, like I didn’t even talk.”  
  
“I didn’t know,” She says quietly, and Stiles laughs.  
  
He laughs in her face.  
  
“Right, you didn’t know. The past two years, I’ve done everything and everything to get you to notice me – to give me a shot. And when Jackson dumped you, when he actually had the _audacity_ to break up with you and act like you weren’t even there - a small part of me was happy, because you finally knew how it felt, Lydia. You finally knew what it was like to have someone that you were pretty sure you were in love with act like you didn’t even exist.  
  
Lydia doesn’t even realize she’s crying until she feels the weight of a tear drop off of her chin. He looks at her, hesitantly, before continuing. “And after that, I knew how sad you were. So I tried to make up for him by being extra, I don’t know, attentive towards you. And I thought we were moving forward – especially after we had that fight in my room.”   
  
Lydia gives him a small smile, wipes the tears off of her face. “ _If you die, I will literally go out of my freaking mind.”  
  
_ He gapes at her, his mouth opening and closing, and then he clears his throat. “Yeah, exactly. Still feel that way, you know.” He scratches at the back of his head and sticks his hands in his pockets, takes a few steps towards her. “And when Jackson almost _died_ , and you told him you still loved him – you don’t know how much that hurt.” She bites her lip, takes a step forward. “I saw you crying.” “Everyone saw me crying,” Stiles says, shrugs. “Jackson left again, and I don’t know, I sort of gave up after you said you still loved him. I figured if you could love him after – after everything that he did, then it was probably real – what you guys had, and still trying to chase after you and get you to notice me would be really unfair to you. And then the other night happened.”  
  
It falls silent for a minute, and Lydia wraps her arms around herself. “I think it’s my turn to talk.” He nods but doesn’t move; they’re only a few steps away from each other, and his eyes are shining and she wants to hug him. “I got scared,” She admits, tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “I got really scared, Stiles – waking up and seeing you there, and knowing that what we did, I couldn’t take back. I figure out a way to hurt anyone that gets close to me.

And I know that leaving you and ignoring you all over again, that hurt worse than anything else I could have done, ‘cause you were alone. But I didn’t want to hurt you like Jackson had hurt me, because I know I could and I probably would, because I was scared.”  
  
He opens his mouth to object, but she holds up her hands, continues. “And I know you’re not anything like Jackson, but I’m sick of feeling weak and dependent on other people. I’m sick of the birdcage feeling – I want to help everyone, to be able to love and be independent, like Allison. I’m sick of being the pretty, helpless little girl. I want to be my own person, and I know that you’ll let me be just that. But I was scared.  
  
“I was scared that you’d eventually get sick of me, like everyone does, and leave. And I remembered all the times that I’ve unintentionally hurt people in order to protect myself– and I don’t ever want to be that person again. I’m _stronger_ than that.  I’m not the girl that everyone has to protect. I’m capable of a lot more than everybody thinks. And I know _why_ you protect me, Stiles, and I do appreciate it – but I want to be able to do it myself, with your help.”  
  
Stiles takes a step forward and thumbs the tears away from cheeks. “You don’t have to be scared, Lydia. I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
“I know,” Lydia whispers, takes a small step forward and tilts her head up. “I know you aren’t, Stiles, and I know I should have given you a shot a long time ago. I’m sorry it took so long.” He lightly grabs her hips and pulls her forward, pressing his mouth to hers. The kiss isn’t gentle but it has a certain softness to it that Lydia has learned to associate with Stiles; she grabs his face with her hands and pulls him in closer, lets the kiss linger before she pulls back and brushes his nose lightly with hers.  
  
“I’m sorry it took so long,” She says.  
  
Stiles smiles, pulls her in for another kiss.


End file.
